


everything is going to be alright

by RerumTechnologies



Series: General Ficlets and Fuckery [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Erica Reyes, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Dead Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Emotionally Intelligent Erica Reyes, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, cannot tell the difference between fic and canon anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RerumTechnologies/pseuds/RerumTechnologies
Summary: It probably should be the weapons pointed at him that hurt him the most. But it isn’t. Their ragtag group is violent, there’s no denying it. Claws at your throat, a bow aimed at your head and fangs flashed in your general direction are signs of affection for them. It’s the suspicion in Scott’s eyes, the hunter blankness in Allison’s that hurts the most. It’s the way they have Lydia behind them, the look of fear in her eyes, the way Isaac and Boyd flank Derek, who looks at him with the most confusing face. He’s seen Derek angry, distrustful, betrayed, and in pain. He’s seen him smile. He’s seen his face human and werewolf. Even when Derek kissed him, he wasn’t so vulnerable. Because Stiles isn’t supposed to be like this. Stiles is human, loud, obnoxious, a pain in the ass, a constant for Derek. He isn’t supposed to be this.Stiles isn’t supposed to be dangerous.Be warned this author has read so many Sterek fics, she barely remembers canon.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: General Ficlets and Fuckery [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868614
Comments: 4
Kudos: 152





	everything is going to be alright

He remembers seeing his father die. He remembers seeing his face sag and his eyes stop focusing when life leaves him. He remembers Derek trying to get him to let go, trying to get him to leave so they could help the others because the Sheriff is already gone, _Stiles come on_. He remembers thinking, yes, right, he has to save the family he has left.

He doesn’t remember losing control.

When he comes out of a spiral of blood, bodies, and _he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead_ , the Alpha Pack is in pieces, and he’s standing in the middle of their eviscerated corpses. His friends are standing before him. Standing against him.

 _It’s all falling apart,_ he thinks. His father is dead. Erica is dead. The pack knows what he is. Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Boyd, Derek. They know. He sees it in their eyes. He’s something horrible, terrifying.

And they don’t trust him.

He can see that in their eyes too.

It probably should be the weapons pointed at him that hurt him the most. But it isn’t. Their ragtag group is violent, there’s no denying it. Claws at your throat, a bow aimed at your head and fangs flashed in your general direction are signs of affection for them. It’s the suspicion in Scott’s eyes, the hunter blankness in Allison’s that hurts the most. It’s the way they have Lydia behind them, the look of fear in her eyes, the way Isaac and Boyd flank Derek, who looks at him with the most confusing face. He’s seen Derek angry, distrustful, betrayed, and in pain. He’s seen him smile. He’s seen his face human and werewolf. Even when Derek kissed him, he wasn’t so vulnerable. Because Stiles isn’t supposed to be like this. Stiles is human, loud, obnoxious, a pain in the ass, a constant for Derek. He isn’t supposed to be _this._

Stiles isn’t supposed to be dangerous.

So he hunches his shoulders, makes himself less of a target and prays they will see that it’s him. That he isn’t dangerous to them. That he’s still Stiles, still pack. He waits for them to see it.

“Please,” he hates how he sounds; pitiful and spineless. He begins to cry, and he hates that too. “Don’t look at me like that.” They keep staring. “Please. It’s still me. Please… he’s dead. Please don’t look at – at –” His sobs are getting in the way, his pain obstructing his throat. “Scott, _please_.” It comes out whispered and scared, and Scott recoils. Stiles looks to Derek and sees what their enemies must see; an angry Alpha ready to protect his pack. “Derek…?”

It’s then he remembers his eyes are still black.

He can’t fix them. He can’t focus on pulling the power back into himself because his family is slipping away from him. He’s panicking. His breaths are coming faster and faster, and everything that matters is being taken away one at a time. They’re his friends, his _pack_. He won’t survive losing them too.

Derek finally speaks. “Get out.” Stiles flinches, thinking it’s aimed at him until Boyd and Scott start to herd Lydia, Allison and Isaac out the warehouse doors. Derek walks backwards after them. Never taking his eyes off Stiles.

 _“NO!”_ He sees Scott flinch. Sees Lydia look back. The walls of the warehouse shake and shudder.

They can’t leave him alone. They can’t leave him. _They can’t-_

“Stay away from us,” Derek stares him down, flashing his red eyes. Stiles’ own eyes are still black, still inhuman and he knows it.

“Derek… _please._ ” Stiles gives up trying to keep the pathetic naked sorrow and fear out of his voice. It’s too late, and he knows it.

“Leave my territory.” And then his family – his pack – is gone.

He’s alone.

Stiles doesn’t know how long he stands among his wreckage and bloody decay. Long enough that his blood-soaked shirt turns brown. Long enough that the flies and vermin come to inspect the smell. Long enough for humans find him.

\---

After his mother had died, screaming that he was the devil, that he was a demon sent to kill her, Stiles ran all the way home from the hospital and locked himself in the bathroom. His breath was coming too fast, and his heart was trying to rip through his ribcage.

Mom was dead. Mom was dead, and she said it was _his fault_.

A wordless scream finally forced its way out of his throat and at the same time, the bathroom mirror shattered. Stiles was frozen in shock. He picked up one of the pieces and turned it over in his small hands.

When he raised it up to look himself in the eye, he stared into a black so dark it devoured all light.

Even at ten years old, Stiles was pretty amazing at research. Turns out there are lots of beasties with black eyes. But there is only one that has a single (human) form.

Demons.

Mom had said she was always right.

There are two kinds, apparently; the ones who are born in the human realm (like Stiles), and there are those who have to fight their way in via possession (from _where_ exactly, the books and websites were never specific). They aren’t evil. _He_ isn’t evil. Those born in the human realm have just as much potential of being evil as your average superpowered being amongst non-superpowered beings – though they did have a tendency toward certain psychoses. Those that possess… well, Stiles thinks they’re just bitter. And all demons indeed have some kind of natural talent with kinetics. And those can get pretty specific and weird. The easiest one to learn is obviously telekinesis, which usually comes naturally to every demon to varying degrees. House favourites also include hydrokinesis (water), pyrokinesis (fire), geokinesis (earth), and alcokinesis (you guessed it, alcohol). Demons tended to stick with the basics, a lot of other powers weren’t nearly as useful, and they were challenging to learn if you didn’t have another demon to teach you.

A born demon might live and die a peaceful life without ever knowing what they were. It takes trauma to bring out a born demon’s nastier side for the first time. Honestly, Stiles was happy he’d found this at age ten and not say when he’d had to face down a psychotic Alpha werewolf. Obviously, Stiles mastered telekinesis before moving on to the older, more dangerous kinetics. But he didn’t learn any more until werewolves had come into his life. The one he’d chosen had been the most ancient and obscure. One no one would ever think of. Unless he told someone – unless he showed them, no one could possibly guess it. If no one knew what Stiles could do, he would always be one step ahead. This way, he can help his dad, his new pack, and no one would ever be the wiser. No one would ever have to know.

It’s almost impossible to tell he’s using his powers too. Stiles didn’t bother with any of that silly hand waving. No one could tell he was doing anything, unless, of course, they see his eyes.

\---

Stiles looks up to meet the lights of police cars. He knows what they see. A blood-covered teenager, in the middle of a bunch of diced up bodies, with pitch-black eyes.

“This must be pretty mind-blowing for you,” Stiles says. The warehouse isn’t in Beacon Hills. He doesn’t know these deputies. “I get that. A year ago, I thought I was the only thing out there.” Not even fully aware of what he’s doing, Stiles stands and begins making his way toward the officers.

They yell something he doesn’t pay attention to and shots go off. He doesn’t get hit. That’s easy.

“But then it was okay because maybe they would understand, you know?” The guns keep going off, and now they can’t hear him. He tosses their guns to the side – repeats himself. “But I don’t tell them. Because being an animal is different than being a monster.” The nearest man takes out his baton, swinging it at him. He throws that aside too. “Because unlike werewolves, I’m not allowed to have a pack.” Stiles lifts him up without touching him, letting him dangle in the air. Something occurs to him, and he laughs humourlessly, “I’ve lost my anchor,” he laughs again, a note of hysteria creeping in, “I didn’t even know that we had anchors. None of the books ever said that. Is this what it felt like for Peter? Your world is spinning apart, and you can’t breathe, can’t focus…” Stiles narrows his eyes. The officer screams, long and loud and pleading. Stiles blocks out the noise but revels in the feeling of power. He can’t control his friends. He can’t make them stay. But he can do _this_. The man probably doesn’t know it, but his bones have become sharper than razors. As sharp and strong as a werewolf’s claws. Aciukinesis. Easy to learn, very useful, and impossibly arcane to the point it’s foolish to consider someone could master it.

But Stiles had.

Bones slide almost gracefully out of the skin. They drop to the floor, some sticking grotesquely out of the dirt-packed ground of the warehouse. Finally, Stiles lets what remains of the man – strips of skin and muscle like the scraps of a shirt – fall as well. Someone not used to blood and gore and battles between a supernatural of the week might have been surprised at the response this got. Humans are incredibly adaptable. There are no screams, no panic other than the shouts of “Officer down! _Officer down!_ ” Hearing them brings Stiles’ wandering mind to his father.

He kind of drifts out of focus after that.

He comes back to himself, again standing in the middle of bloodied carnage. This time, however, his pack is nowhere to be seen.

When Stiles screams, the warehouse comes down around him. Flattened to the ground so that no one would guess it had ever existed. He screams for a while after that. Just wailing and howling and cursing. He presses bloody hands to his face and scratches at his chest to try and bring in more air, but he can’t. He can’t because he’s all alone.

He curses himself. He curses his father. He curses his friends. He curses Scott and Isaac, Allison and Lydia, Boyd and Derek. Especially Derek.

He’s the one to blame for Stiles’ loss.

He had ordered his family to leave.

He had gotten his father killed.

Stiles stops screaming. He surveys the damage he’d caused. Idly, he thinks that he should be worried. Should he clean up the mess…? No… it’s not his problem anymore. Why should he care if humans knew? The only ones that mattered knew, and they had left him.

He bares his teeth and then wonders abruptly if he got that from the werewolves or if it’s always been in his nature. Then he wonders what to do next. Stiles has never been one to wander aimlessly but now… now he has no purpose.

 _I could have a purpose._ It’s a small voice that speaks for him. He doesn’t talk to himself – he’s not crazy. That’s just his id talking. _They left me. Left me alone. They don’t trust me. I killed these men easily enough. It wasn’t even my fault. They were attacking me, and I defended myself. And it… it was therapeutic, cathartic. It felt good – all that power with hardly any effort. I could do it again. Really, it’d be a blessing for them. My friends have to live with so much death and pain. They don’t deserve it._ _He’s still drawn to them, can still feel the pull of them. It feels like safety and home, like an anchor to reality –_ _but they took that away didn’t they? And the only way to get it to stop… His world might stop spinning apart if the pull of them just stopped._

_\---_

Stiles was a schemer. He didn’t like to act without knowing. Unless the act would lead to knowing. That’d be how the whole “let’s go see the dead body in the woods” thing had happened.

He’d had a five-year plan to convince Lydia to fall in love with him, which consequently went up in flames after they’re not so romantic date featuring one murderous rampaging Alpha. It hadn’t even been Peter’s fault. Okay, well, everything was Peter’s fault, but Stiles had realised something much earlier in the night. He wasn’t in love with Lydia. Maybe he had been at one point and just gotten stuck. He did that sometimes, too; he’d get caught in a spiral of thoughts and feelings, and the only way to work through them was to decide on a strategy and stick to it. Obviously, he’d failed to include a “make sure you’re actually in love with the object of your obsession” step in his five-year plan.

He didn’t forget it this time.

Stiles didn’t think anyone would call him introspective. Not with the way he threw himself into every conversation and couldn’t sit still. He spent hours mulling his feelings over. He tried to talk about them with Scott, but his buddy was always busy nowadays. He couldn’t blame him. Scott was first line, he had a new girlfriend, new wolfy powers, failing grades, and now it seemed like a new supernatural bogeyman is coming out of the woodwork every week. Even Stiles is showing the strain.

But there’s only so much introspection a teenage boy can do before he broke. Stiles ended up confessing his sins to Erica. They’d been spending more and more time together, and Stiles’d found that Erica might just replace Scott as his best friend if Scott kept ignoring him. On one of the nights where the rest of the pack was out hunting down the creep of the week – a bakeneko who’d been snacking on hikers – Erica had decided that she and Stiles weren’t needed on a midnight slog through the preserve when it’d been raining for the past week. They were having a movie night instead. Stiles hadn’t even lasted through the 1989 _Batman_ before vomiting all of his feelings.

He was definitely in love with Derek Hale, and he was doomed. Discuss.

“Tell him.”

“That is a monumentally terrible idea, have you not been listening? He’d probably kill me. His trauma has trauma when it comes to significant others. Not to mention, I’ve only seen him with women.”

Erica grinned at him upside down from where she’s hanging her head off the edge of his bed where she’s moved to when he’d gotten up to pace. “I never said it was a good idea,” she said, turning right side up, and making room for him again when he looked like he was calming down, “I just think you should tell him. What’s the point of panting after someone if you don’t try to catch them? These feelings aren’t just going to go away. Believe me, getting them out there and dealing with them – either by rejection or acceptance – is way better than letting them fester.”

“Got some experience with that do you?”

“Don’t make me hurt you, Stiles. Get over here.”

Stiles flopped onto the bed beside her, “You’re right, though, I guess. Telling him and being murdered for my audacity would be better than hanging around, waiting for scraps of affection while he falls in love with someone else.”

“Honestly, with Derek’s track record, better you than whoever he comes up with next.”

“Gee, thanks,” he let himself be womanhandled as Erica curled up into his side, “I’m glad I rank above a genocidal maniac.”

“Seriously,” she sighed into his shirt, “I think you’d be good for him. He could use someone that cares about him and will still disagree with him to his face. And I know he likes you at least a little bit.”

He snorts, “Erica, he likes to throw me against solid walls. And a steering wheel that one time.”

“Please, he hasn’t done that in months. You should be paying more attention to how grumpy he gets every time he sees me or Scott touch you.” Erica sat up and forward to press play on his laptop.

They were silent for a moment as Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne made the moves on Vicki Vale.

“Are you saying he’s _jealous_? Of you and Scott?”

“Either panty up or shut up, Batman, I’m trying to watch a movie.”

But Stiles didn’t. Panty up that is. To his great shock and pleasure, Derek was the one who made the first move.

It was another night on another week nearly a month later when the pack had decided that a party at their Alpha’s new loft was just what the doctor ordered. That’d been hours ago, though. Now there was a cuddle puddle happening in the living room area because it turned out Derek’s couch became a bed big enough for four werewolves and two humans to pile on. Derek and Stiles were in the kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a low half-wall, and cleaning up the two dozen pizza boxes Derek’s puppies had managed to go through. Derek had just said something in that dry tone of his that had Stiles leaning against the countertop, snorting in laughter. One second he was grinning at Derek, opening his mouth to tell him yet again, to stop hiding the fact that he had a sense of humour from the rest of the pack. The next, Derek’s hot mouth was slanting clumsily over his.

The kiss was hot and rough and a little awkward. Stiles’ lips were still turned up with mirth when it started, but by the end his was moaning as Derek’s hands made broad paths from the small of his back to the back of his head, pressing him closer until Stiles wasn’t entirely sure where he ended, and the werewolf began.

When they broke apart, Stiles was a little dazed, “Um, what was…?”

Derek seemed to realise he’d basically assaulted Stiles with his mouth. His cheeks pinked, and his eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

When Derek tried to step back out of Stiles’ space, Stiles came back to himself and hung on for dear life, “Derek, don’t freak out on me.”

“I don’t freak out,” Derek muttered automatically, relaxing against Stiles when it was looked like Stiles wasn’t going to let go. “I just – you’re seventeen.”

“And I’ve been in more life-threatening situations than your average seventy-year-old, don’t bring age into this, Derek.”

Derek shut his mouth, his whole face settling into a glower, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Good, because I’m pretty sure there are at least two werewolves in the other room that would kick your ass if you tried. And that’s after I got done with you,” Stiles smiled, trying to get Derek back into that relaxed, _kissing_ mood he’d been in only moments before. When Derek continued to frown, Stiles sighed, “Listen, dude, I was a happy consenting participant of what just happened, and I don’t appreciate the implication that I can’t decide for myself.” He took a deep breath, “Also, I’ve maybe been wanting you to do that for a while. Like for months now.”

Derek blinked, “Really?”

Stiles smiled again, and this time the corners of Derek’s mouth lifted up in return, “Really. But don’t think I’m easy. I expect to be wooed, dude.” He tugged gently, and Derek leaned in again.

“Don’t call me, ‘dude,’” Derek whispered against his lips.

The next day, Erica’s head was sent to Derek in a box, with a heavy, expensive card attached bearing the symbol of the Alpha pack.

\---

Stiles isn’t sure when the voice in his head became more dominant than his own. He thinks it’s still his. How can a voice like that be his? It makes sense sometimes, and it talks like him, but it’s darker. Is he… is he going – no, he isn’t crazy. Of course, the voice is his. His thoughts are just _loud_ lately, that’s all. It’s the pulling. It’s his friends. They make him–

_Crazy. Am I crazy? Why am I doing this? Why am I hurting them? I don’t want this, do I? I don’t want them to be–_

–furious. They always looked down on him, pitied him. They didn’t deserve to be his pack after the way they treated him. Fucking hypocrites. They’re just– 

_–scared of me. Who wouldn’t be scared of me? Look at me, I’m a monster._ I’m _scared of me after what I did. I killed all those humans. Boyd. I – I killed – I’m–_

–scared of a little competition, it was okay when Stiles was a weak, defenceless human they could kick around and shove against doors, but now he’s strong, now he’s powerful, and they hate him for it. Besides, he’s doing them a favour, right? If he’s– 

_–a murderer. I didn’t want that, right? I just want my pack back. I just lost control. Like Peter. I just lost control. This isn’t me. This isn’t my fault, I can’t control it, I can’t fight it, I’m too–_

–tired after all the shit they’ve gone through, they must be too. They’ve all gone through so much; the pain and blood and betrayals that’s been a part of their lives since the Hales came back to town. They probably feel this loneliness too. They probably feel– 

_–weak. They’re pulling at me, and_ it’s _pushing me, and I can’t help myself because this isn’t me! I need help. They need to help me. I shouldn’t have been left alone. They need to stop me. How can they stop me if they’ve_ left me? _Why is it so hard to think past–_

–the silence eating away at the edges of their vision, turning everything grey. They don’t deserve that kind of pain. He doesn’t deserve it at all. He doesn’t deserve silence and loneliness and betrayals and blood and…

_–the power in his head? It didn’t use to be like this. It’s so strong now, stronger than I am, it’s eating me alive. I can’t think around it, it keeps backing me into dark corners, turning me in on myself…_

Just like he’s doing to Derek. Even as he stalks toward Derek, the forest silent in the presence of two predators, Stiles isn’t sure why he’s killing him. Derek is supposed to be killed last, right? _So he can suffer their deaths, their loss, like Stiles suffered._

_So he can find a way to stop this, stop me, stop –_

“Stiles,” Derek looks scared. Good.

Stiles has only killed Boyd. But he’d gotten distracted. They’d found a new stray to replace him – the Kitsune. Stiles knew as soon as they welcomed her with open arms. He knows things now. He’s tapped into his abilities now. The powers control him more than he controls them. He knows it. He finds that he doesn’t care much. _I care. I’m still here, and I care._

He followed Derek into the woods with them, finding him easily. _Too easily._

“Stiles, please.” He kind of likes it when Derek begs. It makes him think of what might have been; if they’d gotten more than that one kiss before everything went to hell.

Hell, get it?

Demonic black meets Alpha red, and Stiles bares his teeth in a manic grin, ready to lift Derek into the sky and see his very blood cut through his veins like scissors through paper.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

That stops him. Stiles blinks, shakes his head, “Sorry?”

“We shouldn’t have run from you.”

Stiles takes a step back. _What is he doing?_ This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

“We should have talked to you.” Derek takes a step toward him this time. “We should’ve – I should’ve heard you out.”

Stiles can feel himself shaking, “What are you doing, Derek? Trying to talk down the _crazy person_?” He can feel his muscles jumping under his skin. His laugh trembles when it escapes him, “Stalling until the calvary can come and save you, Alpha?” Derek takes another step and another. Stiles lets the shaking escape him, lets the trees and the ground vibrate with his… anger? _Fear?_ Hatred? _I don’t hate Derek, do I? I’m just… I miss him._

“No.” Derek is almost within reach of him now, and Stiles has somehow backed himself against a tree. The shaking gets worse. A large branch falls and clips Derek in the shoulder, making him stagger. Still, he keeps coming.

He – _this thing inside him_ – lashes out again, his words biting and sharp, “Oh, I see what this is. Is this about that night? Get over yourself, Derek, it was just a kiss.” _That’s not true. He knows that’s not true._ “Unless you’re just looking for a fuck? Did you get your kinks from Kate? I don’t have any family left for you to kill.”

Derek flinches, but he doesn’t respond to Stiles’ words nor does he stop moving and now he’s inches away from Stiles. _Get away, get away._ His hands are coming up slowly. _Don’t touch me. I’m poison. Don’t touch me._ Stiles feels like he’s moving through mud, his limbs are slow to react, coming up to bury his nails in Derek’s forearms as his fingers curl around to the small of his back and around the back of his neck, cradling him. His lungs are constricting, but he can’t breathe. Is Derek killing him? _Yes, kill me, stop me, make it stop, Derek._

“Stiles, everything’s going to be alright.”

 _“Nothing is alright,”_ Stiles’ voice sounds like it should be echoing out of somewhere very deep and very dark, _“You left me alone.”_ There’s a thunderous crack, and one of the trees around them falls, slamming into the ground much harder than it should have.

“Look at me, Stiles.”

That’s when Stiles realises his eyes are closed. When did that happen? _What is Derek doing?_ He blinks, and he sees that Derek’s eyes aren’t red anymore. There’s the pressure of fingers at the back of his neck, nails digging in, claws slicing through skin.

_Oh._

Stiles smiles sluggishly, “G’nna take ‘way th’ pain, D’rek?”

The corners of Derek’s mouth lift up in return, “Everything is going to be alright.” And Stiles’ world stops shaking.

\---

He remembers seeing his father die.

He remembers Derek trying to get him to let go.

He remembers thinking he has to save the family he has left.

He doesn’t remember losing control.

He comes out of a spiral of blood and death, and his friends are standing beside him. Standing with him.

 _Don’t leave me alone,_ he thinks. His father is dead. Erica and Boyd are dead. The pack knows what he is. Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Derek. They know.

But it’s alright because they still trust him. He sees it in their eyes.

“Please,” he whispers. His voice doesn’t echo anymore. _When did it echo? I don’t remember that…_

Derek comes forward to take his hand, pulls him in, so there’s an arm around his waist, a hand at the back of his neck. Stiles sags in relief, tilts his face up to keep his eyes on Derek like he asked. _When did he…?_

“Everything is going to be alright, Stiles,” Derek whispers against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED IN MY SURVEY!
> 
> Ok, so I put this one as Mature but lmk if yall think that's not right. Tbh I don't think the bloody bits are that gory but just to be safe. Also, this was written super fast so if you see any mistakes lmk that too lol. 
> 
> I almost never write anything other than happy endings so this was kind of a fun exercise for me! I was intrigued by the idea of someone being "fixed" or controlled by the claw thing, say if someone lost their anchor and started to go on a rampage? Also dark stiles, who doesn't love dark stiles?
> 
> Find me on tumblr under the same name and as always, leave a comment on your way out and may you find many happy OTPs and AUs!


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